


Soft as Snow (But Warm Inside)

by Farasha



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Consent Issues, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Sex Pollen, Unsafe Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-09
Updated: 2017-02-09
Packaged: 2018-09-23 03:11:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9638453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Farasha/pseuds/Farasha
Summary: What should have been a ridiculous card from a fan turns out to contain an unknown substance that is making it very hard for Yuri. In more ways than one.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For readers with any form of infidelity squick, Yuuri and Victor are in an established relationship in this fic. The conversation they have after Yuuri and Yuri's sexual encounter is off-page. Yuri experiences some fairly intense anxiety over it. Proceed at your own discretion.

"Fan mail for you." Mila flung a glossy lavender envelope in Yuri's lap.

"I don't want this," Yuri said, wrinkling his nose at it. A cloying smell rose from the paper. Was it perfumed?

"Yura, I'll tell Yakov on you if you aren't gracious to your fans," Mila said, her lips curving in an annoying smirk. "It looks like whoever wrote it to you went to a lot of effort. It was slipped under the office door — hand-delivered!"

"That's creepy. Don't you have creepy fans, or did you bench pressing your ex make them all realize what a hag you are?" Yuri finished taping up his ankle. It felt tender after today's practice, when he'd come down oddly on his edge after a jump, and he didn't want to strain it.

"Open it or I'm going to open it and read it to everyone." Mila's bright pink lipstick made her smirk seem even wider. "Yuuri Katsuki is still practicing, isn't he?"

Yuri glared at her, anger boiling in his chest. "Shut up, like I give a shit what the piggy thinks."

"Oh, back to 'pig' now? I guess you really won't care if I read it, then."

"Get your hands off!" Yuri snapped, yanking the stupid fan letter from her. "I'll open it, just cut it out."

He slipped a finger under the envelope's seal and tore it open. There was a card inside, some fucking shade of candy pink that Yuri normally wouldn't be caught dead with. If anyone walked in and saw him holding this, he'd never hear the end of it.

Yuri opened the card. A cloud of something fine and pinkish burst out from the inside. Yuri tumbled backward off the bench with a startled shout, his eyes squeezing shut. He rubbed at one eyelid, coughing. Some of it had settled on his face, and he'd inhaled some of it, too.

"What the fuck," he croaked between coughs, trying to get it out of his eyes.

"What the fuck?" Mila repeated. "Did they just fill the card with glitter — hang on, I'll get a wet towel. Don't rub your eye."

"I inhaled fucking glitter? That's the last time I listen to you. I'm probably covered in it. Ugh, it smells like perfume."

A warm, wet cloth smacked him in the face. Yuri scrambled to grab it before it landed on the floor, wiping the glitter out of his eyes and off his cheeks. He even dabbed at his tongue, making a face, but it didn't get rid of the disgusting sweet smell in his mouth.

"I just showered," he snarled, staring down at the pink glitter all over the front of his jacket and down his arms. "I'm going to have to shower again. Dammit, Mila."

"I thought it was going to be some fourteen-year-old's love letter, not a glitter bomb," Mila said. "It might still be."

Yuri grabbed the card off the bench, ripped it into pieces, and stuffed it into the trash can where everyone threw their used gauze and bloody cotton swabs. Mila wrinkled her nose.

"I'm taking a cab," Yuri growled.

"Grow a sense of humor," Mila said, reaching for her phone. Yuri shoved his feet into his sneakers, hissing as pain lanced through his toes. It was worth it to get out of the locker room before Mila could snap a picture of him covered in pink fucking glitter for Instagram. It was probably in his hair.

He took the cab back to Victor's (and Yuuri's, his mind wouldn't let him forget even if he wanted to) apartment, absolutely unwilling to leave glitter all over the inside of Lilia's shower when he would have to clean it. He had no such qualms about the inside of Victor's shower, though. It was Victor's own fault for giving him a key, and Yuri took spiteful delight in using the last of one of the bottles of shampoo, realizing too late that it didn't smell like Victor at all.

Heat rose up the back of Yuri's neck and slithered down his spine at the same time. The light, citrus scent of Yuuri's shampoo rose in the steam around him, and for a second Yuri felt dizzy enough that he swayed, one hand coming out to catch himself on the tile. He fumbled behind him and turned the water colder. He'd overheated in the steam, that was all. That was why he felt too hot, and definitely why he was half-hard.

Stepping out in a cloud of steam didn't bring the cool shock that he was expecting, and his skin stayed overly warm and too sensitive. Yuri avoided drying between his legs as long as he could, trying to glare his erection into wilting. It didn't work. Yuri hissed through his teeth as he swiped the towel over his dick, then tossed it in the corner. Like hell was he going to jerk off smelling like Katsudon's shampoo.

He used Victor's shower enough that there was a set of clothes for him in the linen closet. It was just a soft pair of black sweats and a loose shirt, but it was enough. Yuri looked at his hoodie in disgust, pink glitter winking from the sleeves, and threw it into the corner with his other clothes and the towel.

Yuuri was home when he emerged from the bathroom, his wet hair plastered to his head. Yuri went to flop face down on the couch, hugging a throw pillow to his chest. The backs of his ears felt hot. Why did stupid Katsudon have to be here?

"Where's Victor?"

"Yakov sent me home because Victor was distracted," Yuuri said. A pot clanged from the kitchen. Yuri looked up to see that Yuuri's face was pink across his cheekbones.

"The two of you are gross," he said, and turned on the television so he wouldn't have to keep holding a conversation. Every time he moved, he smelled citrus. The fabric of the couch felt like it was rubbing his skin raw, and it was a nice couch. Yuri had slept there on more than a few occasions.

His skin didn't cool down. He turned over on his back, holding the pillow down over his lap. After a few minutes of shifting around, he got up and checked the dial on the window unit. The unit was whirring quietly, the dial placed just where it usually was. Yuri cranked it down a couple ticks.

Yuuri seemed unconcerned with his squirming, even though Yuri felt like he couldn't sit still. The only noise from the kitchen was the faucet, the sounds of splashing water, and the clank of pans on the inside of the sink.

The urge to pace, or at least move, wouldn't let Yuri alone. He would lie on the couch for a few minutes, then get up and check the window unit, then go back to the couch. He rolled from his back to his belly, over to his side, then back again. He was so hot, sweat collecting at the back of his neck and under his shirt. That, and his dick didn't seem to get the picture that there would be no action anytime in the future. Every time Yuri rolled over onto his stomach, he had to resist the urge to rut into the couch cushions. It was ridiculous.

Yuri checked the thermostat for the ninth time that hour. He finally gave in and stripped his shirt off, throwing it on the couch with a snarl. "Katsudon, the air conditioning is broken!" 

Yuuri looked up from whatever it was he was doing in the kitchen. The light in there was warm, almost too bright to Yuri's eyes. It framed him where he stood, making him look fuzzy around the edges. "Are you hot?" he asked.

"Yes I'm fucking hot, it's hot in here!" Yuri piled his hair up off his neck. It wasn't just hot. His skin itched where his pants were touching him. His nerves hummed with urgency and arousal, which he was fucking ignoring because it didn't make any sense.

Yuuri came out from the kitchen, frowning. "You must have turned it down three degrees since you've been on the couch. It's actually getting a little cold — Yuri," his tone changed to one of concern, "are you feverish?"

"No," Yuri said sullenly, drawing his knees up to his chest on the couch.

It didn't work. Yuuri crossed the room, and before Yuri could flinch away, the palm of one hand settled on Yuri's cheek and the other laid against his forehead. They were blessedly cool, damp from the kitchen sink, and for a split second Yuri leaned into the touch before he jerked away.

"Don't touch me!" he snapped, flinching back from Yuuri's hands. 

"You're burning up," Yuuri said, downright distressed now. "I thought fevers were supposed to make you feel cold. Do you have any other symptoms?"

Yuri's mind immediately went to his cock, hard as a rock and aching in his sweatpants. His face flushed bright pink all over, probably the same shade as that fucking glitter — 

"Fuck," Yuri breathed, realization striking him. He rubbed his hands over his face. "Fuuuuck."

"Yurio? What's the matter?" Yuuri's hand closed over his wrist, another point of cool relief against his too-hot, too-tight skin.

"Don't — shit, don't touch me," Yuri gasped, pulling at Yuuri's grip. His arms felt like noodles. The only thing he could concentrate on was how hot he was, how good Yuuri's hands felt on him, and how much he wanted Yuuri's hands everywhere.

"Your pupils are dilated," Yuuri said. His other hand was back at Yuri's forehead, tipping his face up to the light. Yuri groaned, unable to hold it back, his eyes flinching shut. "Light-sensitive?"

"I think I've been drugged," Yuri gasped. He tried to squirm away from Yuuri again, shifting back on the couch, but Yuuri just settled down beside him, one hand still on Yuri's forehead. "There was a letter — a card, from a fan. It had this pink shit all in it — I breathed some—"

"We should get you to a hospital," Yuuri said immediately.

"No," Yuri groaned. "Ugh, no, it's nothing, just a fever."

"You don't look like it's just a fever. Are you sure there's nothing else?"

Yuri had a legitimate excuse for what happened next. Yuuri was too close, barely a few inches away from Yuri's face. Want drowned out all other impulses, and Yuri's mouth was smashed clumsily to Yuuri's before he even had a second to tell himself _stop_.

Yuuri made a shocked sound against his lips, his hands going to Yuri's chest. They were so cold, beautifully cold, and Yuri grabbed for Yuuri's face, shifting closer. Kissing him was like clean water trickling down his throat, cooling some of the awful fire in his chest. He hadn't realized how parched he'd felt until this moment.

Yuri made a horrible, pained sound when Yuuri finally pulled away, his hair disheveled and his glasses knocked askew. He stared at Yuri, utterly dumbfounded.

"What was that?"

"Shut up," Yuri hissed. "Shut up, shut up, I don't even know."

Yuuri was perched half-on, half-off the couch, his lips wet from Yuri's tongue. He fixed his glasses, his face pink, avoiding Yuri's eyes. At any other time, Yuri might have laughed at how incredibly awkward he looked.

"It's a big thing for you to not know," Yuuri said. He sounded like he was trying to be serious, like an adult or something, which was ridiculous because Yuuri barely had his own shit together.

Yuri pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes. They ached in their sockets, and his skull felt too tight just like his skin. He made a wordless, frustrated noise.

"I'm taking you to the hospital," Yuuri said.

"No!" Yuri lunged for him when he started to get up, grabbing him. Yuuri's skin against his felt so incredibly good he shivered, nearly losing track of what he needed to say. "If Yakov finds out I've been drugged and I might fail a doping test, he won't let me go to Euros." Yuri's breath was coming faster in a panic, the words tumbling over themselves on his tongue. "If I don't place at Euros, I'll miss Worlds, I can't. Don't."

Yuuri finally looked at him again, his expression unreadable. He looked Yuri over, from his hair, damp more with sweat than with water — ugh, he'd have to shower _again_ — to the way he was squirming on the couch, to his hands locked on Yuuri's forearms.

"Do you have any idea what it was?"

"Glittery, obnoxious, and it tasted like licking the bottom of a honey jar." Yuri realized he was leaning closer, but he couldn't seem to make himself stop. "Some kind of party drug, I think."

"What kind of party drug makes you hot and sweaty?" Yuuri asked, wrinkling his nose. As Yuri leaned closer, he leaned away, until his back was against the arm of the couch and Yuri was sliding up Yuuri's body he was pulled on a string. "Yuri, what are you doing?"

"I can't help it, my skin hurts. I'm so hot and you're so much colder." Yuri hated how whiny his voice sounded.

"Yuri, you—" Yuuri's sentence strangled itself off and his face turned bright red, a shade Yuri hadn't seen for almost a year, not since he had gotten used to Victor draping all over him whenever he got the chance. Now, it must have been Yuri's weight on top of him, pressing down between his legs, and the completely inescapable evidence of how hard he was.

"It won't go away." Yuri mumbled. It was almost like his body was moving on autopilot, his face tucking into the crook of Yuuri's neck. The touch of Yuuri's skin across his forehead sent a wave of coolness all the way through him to the tips of his toes, and he couldn't hold back a long groan of relief.

"I don't think this is a good idea," Yuuri said, his voice high-pitched and verging on panicked. "Whatever this drug did, something is really wrong, and Victor's going to be home any minute — _Yuri_."

Yuri froze, realizing that he'd been rocking his hips into the cradle of Yuuri's thighs. Stopping made the fire under his skin surge again, but he bit his tongue until he thought it might bleed, trying to hold back the pathetic-sounding noise of dismay that rose into the back of his throat.

"Sorry," he said into the skin of Yuuri's neck. "Sorry, sorry, it's just — fuck, I can feel the _wind_ fucking touching me, and nothing helps like — you're so cold."

He had been about to say _nothing helps like you do_ but that sounded terrible even in his head, and he refused to sound that pathetic out loud. 

Yuri tried to force himself to hold still, clutching at Yuuri's shirt and panting into his neck. Yuuri's fingers slid hesitantly into his hair.

"Don't — not if you don't want me to, god, I can't stop touching."

Yuuri's hand stilled for a moment. Yuri could feel his chest moving with his breaths, slow and even. Yuri tried to match his frantic panting to that pace. The fever raging in him was starting to make his skin hurt. Yuuri's neck was cool under his cheek.

"It's okay if you need to," Yuuri said quietly, stroking over Yuri's scalp to the back of his neck. "Just. Just work it out of your system."

He sounded so hesitant, but holding himself back was making Yuri shake, and he couldn't take it. He rolled his hips into Yuuri's, grinding on the inside of Yuuri's muscular thigh and the curve of his hip. Yuuri kept one hand moving through his hair and the other rubbing up and down his back, his fingers like beads of cold water, relief in every touch of his skin.

Yuuri's shirt was so rough, Yuri didn't understand how he could wear it without clawing his skin off. Yuri slipped his hands under Yuuri's shirt and tugged it up impatiently. Yuuri stopped him before Yuri could just rip it over his head, setting his glasses on the end table before helping strip it off the rest of the way.

The shock of the skin-to-skin contact made Yuri moan. He pressed his face more firmly into Yuuri's shoulder, trying to hide the tears of relief that pricked in his eyes.

Yuuri must have felt them anyway, because he wrapped Yuri up in his arms and squeezed, holding him closer to his chest. "It's okay," he murmured, and pressed his lips to Yuri's temple.

Yuri shuddered, his blood pounding in his ears, and gasped against Yuuri's shoulder. His cock jerked and spurted in his pants, wetness spreading across the front. Orgasm was like a gust of cold wind over his whole body, and for a moment the horrible pounding fever receded from his head.

It didn't last. The heat came roaring back, almost worse than before. His dick was still urgently hard, and with the sticky wetness in his pants, the cloth felt even more like it was scraping against his nerves.

"Fuck!" Yuri spat, propping himself up so he could look down at Yuuri, his face scrunched up in concern even with the pink blush on his cheeks and down his neck.

"Still?" Yuuri asked.

Yuri felt his face go even warmer and collapsed back down on top of Yuuri, his forehead on Yuuri's collarbone. He'd just come in his pants. This was the fucking worst.

"Whoever invented this is an idiot, it doesn't feel good at all." Yuri's throat was tight with helpless frustration. He swallowed down the urge to cry. "My skin hurts except where it's touching you, everything else feels like sandpaper especially _clothes_ , and getting off didn't even make it better. I hate this."

"Okay," Yuuri said, the palms of his hands cool and soothing as they rubbed over Yuri's back. "That sounds pretty bad. Let's, uh, go ahead and get your pants off, then."

Yuri propped himself up on his arms again, staring down at Yuuri's red face. "What?"

"It's fine if you won't let me take you to the hospital, but at least let me make it better. If touching you does it, I'll do that. If you need more than that, it's fine too." Yuuri had a determined set to his mouth that Yuri remembered from long days in Hasetsu doing sit-ups and mile runs side by side.

"I'm the one with crazy fans who drug me with super Viagra, or whatever it is. You don't have to, I mean." Yuri wished he didn't blush so much. The rush of blood to his face hurt, making his cheeks feel too hot. He had to close his eyes and take a deep breath. "I mean, you and Victor are engaged."

"Victor will understand." Yuuri didn't wait for any other arguments. He slid his hands under the waistband of Yuri's sweats and shoved them down, baring his ass. 

The cloth scraped at the head of Yuri's cock as it came off. Ordinarily it barely would have registered, but with the drug heightening his senses, it felt like sandpaper. Yuri flinched, pain making him gasp. The breath whooshed back out of him when an amazingly cool palm cupped between his legs.

Yuuri's hand was on his cock. Yuri stared down at him with wide, shocked eyes to find Yuuri was looking at where his hand was, watching his own fingers wrap around Yuri and his thumb rub over the bared head like a balm.

Yuri's elbows gave, and his knees followed, his whole body resting on Yuuri's again. Yuuri's pants were almost as bad as his own, and Yuri twisted fitfully between Yuuri's legs, torn between thrusting into Yuuri's hand and pulling away from the rough scrape of fabric.

Yuuri's hands caught him by the hips, forcing him still. The difference when Yuuri pulled the hand on Yuri's cock away to fumble with the closure of his pants was immediate — it ached, overwhelming Yuri's senses, all the other signals of his body fading. He needed Yuuri to touch him again, now, and those stupid pants were still in the way.

Yuri kicked his sweats off and threw them off the couch, attacking Yuuri's pants. He yanked them down Yuuri's hips, barely registering Yuuri's gasp of surprise. Underwear came next, and Yuri was too far gone to even appreciate the sight of Yuuri's dick, already mostly hard from Yuri grinding all over him.

He collapsed over Yuuri, his eyes rolling back in sheer relief at the full-body wave of blissful cold that swept over him. A grateful, drawn-out moan left his chest and his throat tightened up again. His fingers were digging into Yuuri's shoulders, clinging for what felt like dear life.

"Okay, there, whatever you need. We'll get through this together." Yuuri was touching him as he said it, his hands sliding over every bit of Yuri's skin he could reach as he murmured similar soothing words. It would have made Yuri mad at any other time, but now it just made him swallow hard, gratitude making his throat tight again. 

It felt so much better than it had with their clothes on, but Yuri's pulse still pounded hardest between his legs. He couldn't stop moving against Yuuri, grinding frantically against Yuuri's bare stomach — and his _dick_ , Yuri still couldn't believe _any_ of this was happening. He panted against Yuuri's neck, driven on by the prickle of his skin and the ache in his balls.

Yuuri nudged his face up with a hand on his jaw. Yuri felt overheated, and his eyelids were heavy as he forced them open.

Yuuri's mouth was open too. He was panting for breath, his hair sticking to his forehead with sweat. Yuri distantly realized Yuuri's other hand had stopped moving soothingly over his back, and the fingers were digging into the flesh of his thigh, pulling him in harder.

Yuri kissed him, both of their mouths barely sliding against each other before they had to gasp, Yuri because it felt like he could breathe again and Yuuri from shock. Yuri didn't care, his tongue swiping wet over Yuuri's lips before pressing between. His skin was starting to tingle like a limb regaining sensation. He was close, he was so close, but it wasn't enough.

"Touch," he gasped, grabbing for Yuuri's hand on his face and shoving it down between their bodies. "Touch me."

Yuuri did, long fingers wrapping around both of them together. His hand soothed the hot ache throbbing through Yuri's blood, and it only took a couple of strokes before the blissful relief of orgasm washed over him again. It lasted longer this time, granting him ten whole seconds of cool tingling on his skin, the breath in his lungs feeling like winter air after a fresh snow.

When it rushed back, Yuri couldn't hold back a desperate, angry whine. "Fuck this," he groaned.

Yuuri's chest shuddered under him, and when Yuri propped himself up, Yuuri was laughing softly. "I know you're a teenager, but this is ridiculous."

"Shut up, maybe next time one of your fans can dose you and you'll see how this feels." Yuri's hips were already moving again, pushing into Yuuri's hand and against Yuuri's still hard cock. Their stomachs were a wet mess, and Yuri made a face, but he couldn't make himself stop.

"My fans are too polite," Yuuri said. "Maybe you just need something else."

"Like what?" Yuri snapped. "If you have any other ideas—"

"Sit up for a minute," Yuuri interrupted, pushing Yuri back with a hand in the center of his chest. It was painful to peel his skin away from Yuuri's, all the raging heat coming back with a vengeance. He balled his fists on his thighs, trying to breathe steadily and not pant at Yuuri like a dog.

Yuuri propped himself up on an elbow and collected some of the sticky mess from his stomach on his fingers. Yuri choked on a inhale as he hooked his knee over his elbow and reached down between his legs, pressing his fingers into himself, slick with Yuri's come.

" _Yuuri_ , holy shit." It slipped out before Yuri could bite it back, all desperation and rough desire.

Yuuri looked a little smug, his lips curling in a smirk that reminded Yuri of the way he looked skating Eros. His hand twisted, and Yuri's eyes flicked down to where his fingers were disappearing inside him, his mouth hanging open on huge gulps of air. All he could think of was how good Yuuri's hand had felt around his cock, and how much better that would feel.

Yuri couldn't keep himself from touching, his hands sliding up Yuuri's thighs, pushing them back until he had a better view of Yuuri fingering himself open. Yuuri's head fell back against the arm of the couch, his mouth open and his eyes half-closed, and Yuri swallowed hard. He looked like he was enjoying himself. Yuri wondered if he could make Yuuri feel like that when they were — they were —

"You're going to let me fuck you," he blurted out, feeling stupid for stating the obvious.

"We don't know how long it's going to take this to wear off." Yuuri sounded breathless. He pressed back into the grip Yuri had on his thighs, riding his fingers.

"Are you — shouldn't I get something else to help?" Yuri's head pounded, his skin so hot it felt like it would melt off, but he didn't want to hurt Yuuri. As much as he hated to admit it, he was glad Yuuri had been here. If this had hit him and he'd been all alone, with just the endless heat beating through his veins and frustrated desire with nowhere to go, he probably would have chafed the skin off his dick trying to jerk off.

Yuuri's back arched on the couch and he let out a little moan that made Yuri's dick jump between his legs, aching to be inside him. His eyes opened, hot and dark as he looked down at Yuri. He licked his lips. Yuri wanted to kiss him until he drowned.

"It's okay," Yuuri said. "I'm, well, still a little... from this morning, anyway, come here."

A surge of possessiveness that felt unnatural burned through Yuri's chest. His fingers sank into Yuuri's hair and their lips smashed together in a sloppy, painful kiss. He didn't want to hear about why Yuuri didn't need anything else, didn't want to think about him and Victor doing this earlier. Yuuri laughed into his mouth, a puff of breath that only made Yuri's skin burn hotter, but he had to break their kiss, gasping, when Yuuri's hand wrapped around his cock. Yuuri's fingers were slick with come, and he guided the head of it between his cheeks, rolling his hips up until Yuri was in him.

Yuri's hips jerked before he could stop them and he sank deeper into Yuuri's body, strangled noises falling from his mouth. Yuuri drank them in, one of his legs curling over Yuri's hips to pull him even closer. His hands were on Yuri's shoulders, his arms, his back, never settling in one place but spreading coolness out over his skin. Yuri fucked him in long, hard strokes, the heat soothing away with the grip of Yuuri's body around him.

The pathetic sound of relief Yuri had been holding back finally rattled out of his chest, a hiccuped sob that drew an sympathetic sound from Yuuri. It was too good, Yuuri wrapped up around him, the cool touch of his skin, the breath of fresh air in his lungs. Yuri's cheeks were wet, he realized, untangling one hand from Yuuri's hair to sit back and angrily dash them away.

"It's just because of the stupid drugs," he gasped, glaring at Yuuri through watery eyes and daring him to argue. He lost the glare almost immediately. Yuuri's whole chest was flushed pink, his stomach smeared with the dried remains of Yuri's come, his hair sticking up in odd directions from where Yuri had grabbed it.

It was the best and worst thing that had ever happened. Yuri had jerked off to this imaginary image in the dark of his room probably a hundred times since he'd gone to Japan and met Yuuri in person — not to yell at him for being a bitter disappointment, but to live and train beside him. But it shouldn't have happened like this, and it wasn't like he was ever going to get to do this again, which meant that after this was over, it was definitely going onto the list of worst moments of his life.

He kissed Yuuri again because it was the easiest way to stop looking at him, fucking him harder out of spite and frustration and hurt that what he wanted was right here and was never going to happen for real. It didn't help that Yuuri liked getting fucked harder, gasping against Yuri's lips, his fingers digging into Yuri's shoulders. Yuri stopped trying to distract himself from the feeling of fire under his skin, letting it all wash over him and carry him away. Thinking was where the problem happened. He just wouldn't think.

Then Yuuri started to talk.

"You feel so good, Yuri, so good, keep going," he gasped. His nails scratched at Yuri's back. It felt like Yuuri was flaying him alive and putting him back together again all at once, his skin was so sensitive. "Just right — Yuri, ah, give me — here, like this."

He grabbed Yuri's hands, pulling them away from his hair. Yuri's thrusts slowed while Yuuri maneuvered them, coaxing Yuri to hook both of his elbows under Yuuri's knees until he was practically bent in half, his knees pressed up near his ears.

Yuri sank even deeper like this, and every time he thrust in Yuuri made a little high-pitched sound like Yuri was killing him. His hands were everywhere on Yuri's skin, more breathless praise spilling from his mouth. Yuri couldn't tear his eyes away, staring with his mouth open as Yuuri Katsuki came absolutely undone on his dick, one foot kicking against empty air, his head thrown back and his eyes shut tight.

"Don't stop until you need to," Yuuri managed to say, between those hot little whines that crawled down Yuri's spine straight to his cock. Yuri started to ask what he meant, but before he could even gather the breath to get the words out, Yuuri went tense all over, his mouth open soundlessly, and came all over his chest.

"Yuuri!"

It slipped out of his mouth, shocked and half-strangled. Yuuri, eyes glazed and coming down from an orgasmic high, smiled a little goofily at him.

Yuri would be embarrassed later that it was Yuuri smiling at him with that fucked-out look on his face that made him come. It felt like he was bursting out of his skin, every nerve sparking at once, his hips slapping against Yuuri's ass with wet noises as he fucked right through it. His ears were even ringing, his fucking _tongue_ tingled.

When it was over, when Yuri could finally uncurl his fingers from the bruising grip on Yuuri's thighs and breathe again, the first breath left him in a long, slow sigh of relief.

"Do you think it's done?" Yuuri asked. He moved, and Yuri groaned when it made him clench down around Yuri's cock, still inside him and nearly unbearably sensitive.

"I'm not sure. Give it a minute." Yuri knew he was lying as soon as he said it. The heat under his skin was gone, and he was actually starting to shiver a little — shit, he really had turned the air conditioning down too low. He knew he was lying and couldn't bring himself to tell the truth.

Yuuri didn't call him out on it. He ran his hands down Yuri's arms, unhooking them from under his knees so he could straighten out a little. The mess of come all over him was turning tacky, and Yuri picked up a shirt — he didn't check to see whose it was — and wiped Yuuri's chest off. When he looked up, Yuuri was smiling softly at him.

"Shut up," Yuri said, even though Yuuri hadn't said anything. "It's just because it's gross."

"Okay." Yuuri was good at that, not arguing with Yuri when he was obviously putting up a front, and suddenly it made Yuri mad.

"What are you going to tell Victor?" His tone was bordering on taunting. He knew it and couldn't help it. If this was the thing that broke Victor and Yuuri apart, he knew he would feel bad, but at the same time it would be like winning. Because then — because —

"We're going to tell Victor what happened. Together." Yuuri was serious now, like he'd caught on to the sick, eager feeling in Yuri's chest.

"I didn't do it on purpose. I didn't even know what that stuff was when I breathed it," Yuri protested. His heart was pounding all over again, but this time it wasn't because he was overheated. Instead he felt clammy and chilled, his palms sweaty.

"Nothing about this was your fault." Yuuri was so firm that Yuri laughed bitterly, realizing he'd gotten it totally wrong. Yuuri thought he felt guilty over the sex.

"You're such a fucking idiot," he said, and kissed Yuuri again while he could still get away with it.

He didn't bank on how desperate it would be, smashing Yuuri's lips into his teeth before Yuri made an effort to be more gentle. His hands went back into Yuuri's hair, holding him still to be kissed. Yuri didn't want to give this up yet.

Yuuri cupped Yuri's face in both of his hands and pushed him back gently. His mouth was a little swollen from the kissing, his hair still tangled around Yuri's fingers.

"It's worn off, hasn't it?" he asked gently. "You're shivering."

Yuri's throat went tight. He spat out one of the nastiest curses he knew in Russian and scrambled away from Yuuri on the couch, pulling his knees up to his chest and pressing his face into them so the tears would roll down his face in privacy.

"Oh, Yuri." It sounded sad, and it made Yuri want to punch him. Or kiss him again.

"Don't," Yuri growled into his knees. "I don't want you to throw a pity party for me and my stupid crush. It'll wear off, okay? It's not like I'm going to become the Nikiforov-Katsuki homewrecker or anything."

"You don't have to try and protect me from Victor, or from making Victor angry. I'm a grown man," Yuuri said, sounding a little indignant.

Yuri glared at him, scrubbing at his eyes with the heel of his hand. "You don't have to protect me either. I'm not a fucking child."

"Obviously." Yuuri's voice was dry, but at least he didn't sound sympathetic anymore. He didn't say anything else, his eyes on Yuri like he was waiting for something. Yuri held the staring contest for a few minutes, shivers still wracking him, clenching his teeth so they wouldn't chatter.

"What?" he finally snapped.

"You have a crush on me."

"I just fucking said that, you asshole."

"Which means I'm the worst person in the universe that could have been here while you were drugged like that." He sighed. "Yuri, I'm sorry. We'll figure out who sent it, and we'll make sure whatever it is, it's confiscated by the authorities."

Yuri jumped up from the couch, anger coiling tight through him. "I'm not a victim of anything. It sucked, but it's not like you — or I didn't—" he stopped, horror making his breath short.

"No you didn't," Yuuri said quickly. "I said it was okay and I meant it. It's not like it was a chore, Yuri. You look beautiful when you let go."

"Stop," Yuri said, fists clenched, taking long breaths to try and settle the coil of spitting emotion under his skin. "Don't do that to me."

Yuuri rose silently from the couch. He didn't come to Yuri right away, moving to a small armchair to the side that plainly got less use than the couch. The whole apartment was like that, fitted around two people with space for a third as an afterthought.

Yuri didn't want to be an afterthought.

Yuuri settled the blanket he'd gotten from the armchair around Yuri's shoulders, tucking it in tight around him. His eyes were kind, and that nearly did Yuri in again, but not as much as Yuuri's fingers on his chin, gently tipping his face up.

"Victor and I care about you a lot more than you know," he said.

"That's bullshit," Yuri said, his voice cracking. "Anything that's not about the two of you is just hanging around."

Hurt crossed Yuuri's face. It felt like a punch to Yuri's gut. "Is that how you feel?"

"It's normal, right? You get with someone, and everything else stops mattering." Yuri sounded bitter even to his own ears. He remembered that from his mother's endless string of shit relationships, in between trying to recapture her glory days. Every time, it was like Yuri stopped existing until it fell apart again and she came to cry on him.

"No," Yuuri said, sounding a little stunned. "Have we been doing that?"

Yuri looked at the floor, mouth twisting. The worst part was they really hadn't. Yuri kept clothes at their place for a reason, because it seemed like he was always here anyway. He ate more dinners with Victor and Yuuri than he did with Yakov and Lilia.

Yuuri's voice was very small and unsure when he spoke again. "We can still be friends, right?"

It made some of the snarl in his chest ease to hear Yuuri off-balance too. Yuri looked up at him, taking in the scrunch of his eyebrows and the pink flush still lingering on his cheeks. His eyes tracked down Yuuri's naked body to the red marks on Yuuri's thighs, left by his clutching fingers.

"I'd fuck you again if you let me," he said. For some reason it felt like the right thing to say.

It made Yuuri laugh, at least, but it didn't sound like he thought it was funny as much as he just didn't know what to say. "I wasn't lying to you or just trying to make you feel better. It was good. I liked it."

Yuri's face was hot again, but without the head-pounding pressure that had come with a blush while he was drugged. "Whatever. We're still friends I guess. The couch is gross, can I nap in your bed?"

Yuuri's laugh this time was soft and fond. He stepped into Yuri's space and kissed his forehead, which should have felt weird and paternal but just made Yuri feel warm.

"Go ahead. I'll wake you up when Victor gets home, and we'll figure this out together."

"If I break the two of you up over this, are you going to hate me?" Yuri blurted out. His mouth was still running away with him and he didn't even have the drugs to blame it on.

"Out of the two of us, you weren't the one in his right mind. I was. If Victor is angry, it's not your fault, it's mine. Okay?"

"I don't want to be the reason you fight."

"You can't be responsible for how other people feel, Yura." The nickname felt good and hurt at the same time. Yuuri only called him that when he knew Yuri was upset. "It's not your fault. Go to sleep."

Yuri wanted to argue with him more, but Yuuri turned away to find his pants, and unless Yuri wanted to stand there staring at his ass — more like staring at his thighs, which were by now wet with Yuri's come — he had to go somewhere else.

The bed felt too big with only him in it. He didn't crawl in under the covers, instead curling up on top of the comforter with the thin blanket from the living room hugged tight around his shoulders. Makkachin was there too, old enough that Victor didn't have the heart to kick him off the bed anymore, not like he ever had. He seemed to know something was wrong with Yuri, because he belly-crawled until his warm, fluffy bulk was pressed up against Yuri's back. 

It was easier to fall asleep with someone touching him, even if it was only Makkachin, but he drifted off wishing it was Yuuri instead.


	2. Coda

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This coda is what happens when you start thinking too hard about the emotional consequences of your sex pollen fic.

Yuri woke to a dark room. Evening had fallen when he'd slept, and the bedroom window faced east. Makkachin was still on the bed, but he'd moved to curl up in the bend of Yuri's knees. He wasn't as cold as he'd been when he went to sleep. Yuuri must have turned the air conditioner back up.

He heard voices from the living room and sat up suddenly, panic chilling him like a bucket of ice water. Yuri threw himself out of bed, but he stopped short in the bedroom doorway, clutching the blanket around his shoulders.

"—idea what it was?" Victor was asking. Yuri's heart jumped up in his throat and a sense of betrayal knifed through him. Stupid Katsudon had said they'd do this together.

"Not even a little bit," Yuuri said. "He felt like he was burning up. Every time I caught his pulse, it was beating too fast. 

"You should have called someone professional," Victor was saying, his voice full of reproach. 

"He didn't want to get disqualified from Euros. He said that if Yakov thought it would show up on a test, he wouldn't let Yuri go." Yuuri said it like it was an entirely reasonable argument, but it felt thin to Yuri now. He could have gone to the hospital instead. Despite what Yuuri had said, Yuri made choices today, too. Not all of them could be excused by the drugs.

"He doesn't need a failed doping test in the headlines." It sounded like an agreement, but it was grudging.

"If it had gotten worse, I would have called a cab."

"I wish you would have called _me_." Now Victor sounded hurt.

"Are you angry?" Yuuri asked. His voice sounded so small, trembling at the end of it, that Yuri went storming into the living room with only the blanket around his shoulders, forgetting he was naked.

"You can't be mad at Katsudon because it was my idea anyway," Yuri declared, only blushing a little bit when they both turned to look at him.

Victor's face didn't have that mild, vapid smile on it, like Yuri had seen when he really did get angry and didn't want to show it. Instead, there was color high in his cheeks and his tightness around his eyes, and — fuck, Yuri never thought he'd see this in his life — tears on those long, perfect lashes.

"It wasn't your fault," Yuuri said quickly.

Victor laughed, a little choked and wet-sounding. "Look at you defending each other."

"I'm just saying, if you're going to hate someone, you can hate me, and I'll go. I won't come over anymore and I won't call or anything, I'll just go." Yuri's throat tightened as he said it, his fingers digging into the blanket. "It doesn't count as cheating if I threw myself at him and climbed all over him—"

Victor moved toward him, and Yuri's words stuttered off into nothing. He stared up into Victor's face and the complicated twist of emotions he'd never seen there before, always hidden behind polite smiles or studied, controlled expressions. Yuuri took a step toward them and stopped, his fists balled at his sides.

"You should have gone to the hospital," Victor said.

Yuri blinked at him. It wasn't what he'd expected Victor to say, and especially not with the vehemence he said it, his voice shaking a little.

"I can't miss the rest of the season—"

"It's not going to kill you to miss a _skating season_ , Yuri! Who knows what that powder even was, much less what it could have done to you! Yuuri said your heart rate was elevated! Do you know how dangerous that can be?"

Yuri's mouth was open in surprise, staring at Victor, utterly confused. Victor's face was still twisted with something that looked a lot like anger, his eyes wet and reddened. Yuuri stood off to the side, red in the face and staring at the floor, looking ashamed of himself.

"Why aren't you kicking me out?" Yuri asked, still trying to wrap his head around what was going on.

The embrace came as a shock. Yuri's cheek was mashed against Victor's chest, Victor's arms strong and solid around him, Victor's chin tucked against the top of his head.

"I'm not mad at you, Yura." Victor's voice was soothing. Yuri found his hands creeping up without his permission to fist in Victor's shirt. Relief choked him, and before he could stop himself, he was sobbing into Victor's shirt.

"I didn't mean to," he choked out, pathetic and off-balance. "I wasn't trying to."

"I told you, it's not your fault," Yuuri said, stepping up behind him. They bracketed him, held him securely, safe and warm on all sides. It only made him cry harder, incoherent with it, like a flood he'd been holding back breaking through all at once.

"Our little tiger," Victor murmured. "Always so strong. You do know it's okay to let someone else take care of you?"

"Shut up," Yuri said, because he couldn't think of anything else to say and it was all way, way too much. The sobs just kept coming, catharsis that had been held in too long. Victor didn't say anything more, though Yuri got the feeling he and Yuuri were somehow speaking, silently, over the top of his head.

When he finally calmed down and could breathe again, he asked, "You're not breaking up?"

"No," Victor said, sounding surprised. "What gave you that idea?"

Yuri scowled, pulling back from the hug enough to look up at him. "You were upset. You were crying."

"I was upset because someone _drugged_ you, with something that meant they wanted to hurt you, or at least weren't thinking at all about what you wanted." Victor squeezed him tighter. "I'm a little jealous, but it wasn't either of your fault."

"But he told you, right? That it wasn't just — that I would — that I want—" Yuri stopped, wondering what it was exactly that he wanted. Apparently he didn't want Yuuri to himself, or the thought of Yuuri and Victor breaking up over him wouldn't feel like glass shoved in his chest.

"Yuuri told me how you feel, but that was a little obvious for a while, don't you think?"

Yuri shoved at his chest. "What? No! I'm not obvious!"

Yuuri laughed, that fond laugh again that made it hard for Yuri to breathe. "We aren't making fun of you, Yura."

"I'm not obvious!" Yuri protested again. He was turning red. He hated that he showed blushes so well, but ugh, how mortifying to think they'd both known about this. What if they'd talked about it? He could just imagine them laughing about his stupid crush over dinner, and it made him want to run.

"It's okay," Victor said, which was stupid, because it really wasn't okay, all of this was messed up in fun and unique ways. "Let's just go to bed, and we can talk about this in the morning when we're not all so emotional."

Yuri wanted to spit out a protest that he wasn't _emotional_ , except based on how much he didn't want either of them to stop touching him, he didn't think that was really true.

"All of us?" he asked instead, because he really didn't want them to stop touching him.

"Come on, Yura," Victor said, and tugged him down the hall into the bedroom. 

Yuuri trailed them both, and when Yuri looked over his shoulder, he had an expression of such profound relief on his face that it made Yuri want to kiss him again. Only he didn't know if that was allowed.

Victor pulled Yuri down into bed with him, not even bothering to take his clothes off. Makkachin grumbled at being kicked off the bed, shuffling off to his doggy pillow with little huffing sighs like his humans existed to make his life difficult.

Yuuri slipped under the covers behind him, spooning up against his back. Yuri was tense from his shoulders down to his toes, and it didn't begin to bleed out of him until Victor caught Yuuri's hand, and their fingers tangled together, their joined hands resting on Yuri's hip.

"You're going to be okay, right?" Yuri asked, looking at Victor but meaning both of them.

"We might have to keep you, just to make sure you don't get into any more trouble," Victor said, and though his eyes were dancing with amusement his voice couldn't have been more serious.

"Don't say it if you don't mean it," Yuri said. It came out like a plea. He didn't imagine they were playing with him, but today had been so complicated and he couldn't think it was as easy as just moving on.

Yuuri's lips touched the back of his neck, a soft kiss that felt intimate and familiar and made him shiver all in one.

"We'll both still be here when you wake up," he promised.

Yuri clung to that promise all the way down into his dreams, Victor and Yuuri's hands laced together over his hip.


End file.
